


Sold By Fate

by Spoon888



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternative Universe - Sugar Daddy, And Megatron Is The Hottest New Thing, Gladiators, M/M, Megatron Origin - AU, Mentions of Tax Fraud, Pre-War, Role Reversal, Starscream Is A Sugar Daddy, Sticky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-24 17:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888
Summary: Revolution is a costly endeavour. A young Megatron is not above soliciting the favour (and wealth) of Vosian 'nouvea riche' to pay the bills.Even if it turns into something decidedly less than professional.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Shakespeare's 'The Merry Wives Of Windsor'. 
> 
>  
> 
> Here, have a fic where Starscream is terrifying, beautiful, and older than dirt, and Megatron is kind of naive for a gladiator. 
> 
> And yes, there will be a lot of sex.

Megatron needed investors. Senators, aristocrats, bots of wealth and influence, disillusioned enough by the council and swayed by his writings to help tear them down. But these were the very mechs _benefiting_ from the system; therein which lied the problem. His followers were plentiful, but the fuel and resources to keep them were not.

"Request for patron; filled," Soundwave came to him one evening, catching him in a rare moment when he had to stop for repairs.

He grunted his approval. "How much are they giving us?"

"Negotiable, but conditional," Soundwave passed over the datapad. "He requests a private meeting."

Megatron glanced at the instructions on it. An address. A time. 'Come alone'. He snorted and dropped it to a nearby equipment table, ignoring the medic's glower when it rattled his equipment. "I am not a pet he can summon at will-"

"Suggestion," Soundwave recollected the datapad and extended it back to him. "Reserve judgment."

He gave his lieutenant a careful look. "He's all you've found, isn't he?"

Soundwave's visor dimmed, "Starscream of Vos is sympathetic to the cause, and professes to be a fan of you, personally. Assessment; exploitable."

"Starscream of Vos," Megatron tested the name for himself, "I will consider what he can offer."

 

* * *

 

Unmarked security met him at the gates of a tall postmodern tower. It was composed of glass panels and gold painted steel. Megatron was sure he recognised it's distinctive silhouette amongst Kaon's rundown cityscape. It wasn't just the tallest in this province, it was the most beautiful too.

He passed over the datapad this Starscream mech had used to invite him, glowering at the bulked up seekers and their waving guns when they snatched it off him and looked him up and down. One of them turned his head and spoke into his comm, voice low so Megatron couldn't hear.

Megatron wondered what this wealthy aristocrat had to be so vigilant about protecting himself from.

He was let through, led into an elevator of equal opulence, golden floors and mirrored surfaces. They didn't trust him to operate it himself, and some forgettable looking minibot pressed the button for the top floor for him- even though he can to strain on the very tips of his pedes to do so.

Megatron tasted sourness. Everything about this setup reeked of a superficial ostentatiousness. Whoever his would-be patron was, he liked to show off.

New money, Megatron decided, because only new money was so decadently gaudy.

He scowled at his own reflection, the red jagged claws painted under his optics were begining to fade, but touch ups had been far from his mind in these busy days. His own reflection split apart when they arrived at the top floor.

He stepped out into a room filled with further decadence. He was presented with three hundred and sixty degree views of the city- or of the smog and pollution that lingered over it. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling. The furniture was insulated and cushioned, not the hard slabs of metal he was used to. And the air was fragranced, musky with some sort of incense- it rushed straight to his head.

He felt like he had stepped through a ground bridge disguised as an elevator, because this place felt like anything but Kaon.

"Ah," a cultured but rasping voice announced. "Good, you're here."

Megatron turned towards the source, a large L shaped sofa in front of a video-screen with a seeker perched on top of it.

He was... older than Megatron had expected, something in his demeanour reflecting millions upon millions of years experience. His wings large and vibrant, long legs crossed elegantly. He was holding a glass of bright pink fuel in his servo, the digits adorned with gold and jewels. He waved his free servo, a casual beckoning.

"Starscream." Megatron strode the distance between them, straightening his shoulders and reminding himself that however out of place he felt, he had been invited here. "I am-"

Another flippant hand wave, "I know who you are, sit down." He took a sip of his fuel, optics glinting over the rim at him. There was a deviousness to him, like he had worn one too many smirks on his face and would now never be rid of their smugness. "Megatron of Tarn."

Megatron lowered himself with caution onto the other side of the sofa. The video-screen in front of them was still playing away to itself, and now that he focused on it, he could see it was a gladiatorial match. One of his, in fact.

"A fan?" He grunted.

"You could say that," Starscream carefully set his fuel down, leaning towards the end table between them. In doing so his gaze tracked up and down Megatron's frame, so quickly and casually he almost missed it.

Megatron rolled his shoulders to loosen them of tenseness, unsure what it was about the seeker that unsettled him so.

"You have a lot of security." He said, wondering what sort of criminal enterprise Starscream must be involved in. "Who are you trying to keep out? Autobots."

There was a snort of laughter as Starscream threw his helm back. "If only. No, something far less pleasant." He leant in, voice conspiratorially low. "The _CRS_."

Megatron blinked. The Cybertronian Revenue Service; the tax collectors.

"Fraud." He realised.

Starscream waved a servo, "When you've lived as long as I have, debts begin to add up."

"So none of this is truly yours."

"It's in my home, isn't it?" Starscream smiled. "Coincidentally, so are you."

Megatron scowled at the implication. He stood, "You sound indebted enough. If you've nothing to offer-"

"I have plenty to offer." Starscream's voice took on an edge. He pointed at the sofa, his indication for Megatron to sit. Refusing to be ordered around by some has-been criminal, Megatron remained standing.

"In fact," Starscream continued, deciding to let his defiance slide. "I can offer more than just credits-"

"Not interested."

"You will be." Starscream swept up his fuel again and swirled it around. "I'll get you your credits before the fights tomorrow. And perhaps a little something extra, if you join me in the VIP box after."

Megatron uncurled his fists, but found it difficult to relax them. "We'll see." He growled, and strode out from around the comfortable sofa.

The elevator panel was pressed by the minibot stood waiting, and as they waited for the doors to open, Megatron looked back at Starscream. He was watching over the rim of his glass, the fight having just ended on the recording playing on the video-screen behind him. Megatron saw himself on it, covered in mech fluid and leading a chant of victory.

The doors opened with a ping and Starscream lowered his fuel to lick his lips. Megatron stomped into the elevator, denta grinding at the sudden fluidity of his knees.

 

* * *

 

Megatron required an atmosphere free of distraction most nights. Any battle could be his last, regardless of odds and experience. He himself had been a rookie not so long ago, and the Off-World Open Invite required a whole new level of concentration. Aliens with biology and tricks he may not be familiar with; beasts that spat acid, claws that could render even armour as thick as his. He couldn't afford to let his focus wander.

So why had someone decided to throw him off by bombarding his room with crystals?!

Bouquets of them, chains of them, scattered across his workstation, draped over his berth. He had to dig past them to get to his weapons. They were ruby red and crystal clear and sky blue.

"Soundwave," he barked into his comm, sliding his sword into it's sheath on his hip. "We have a security breach. Handle it."

 _"Negative; no breach detected_."

Megatron swept his arm through the scattered crystals and sent them clattering to the floor, "No breach?! My quarters have been compromised!"

Soundwave didn't reply. Megatron assumed that was because he was finally dealing with the problem. He idly wondered what sort of message this was supposed to send. Was it simply to distract him? Or was it bizarre cover up for a object far more perilous than twinkling rocks?

He braced himself against his workstation, re-focusing himself on well rehearsed battle protocols, getting himself back into that mindset. He had less than an hour before he would be thrown out into the ring to finish off the stragglers.

Beneath the mess of crystals, there was a datapad. Not one of his own. It was razor thin and made of glass. The edges around the screen were gold. Real gold.

It blinked online when his thumb slipped over the screen, a cursive note waiting for him.

_Megatron,_

_Best of luck for tonight. I'll be watching, waiting to be impressed._

_Yours,_

_Starscream_

Megatron clenched his fist around the datapad, but it was such high quality, the glass didn't even crack. He threw it down amongst the crystals, of half a mind to storm up to that VIP box and throw that smug old seeker out of it.

But he was expected in the pit.

He barged out of his quarters, seized the first hapless worm he saw by the back of the neck and thrust them in the direction of his room. "Deal with it," he told the stuttering mech.

"What- what do you want me to do with all the-"

"Throw them in the trash," Megatron snarled, not caring what he did so long as they were gone before he returned.

Stepping out into the pit, the smell hit him first. The fresh scent of death; mech fluid mingled with various other chemicals, alien blood and guts. The stains on the ground ranged from sticky pink to watery green. Severed limbs, torn cables, and gears alike had been kicked to the edges of the ring, hastily cast aside to prevent tripping hazards for his match.

Megatron scooped up a discarded shock stick on his way to the centre. It never did any harm to have a backup.

The bright lights made it difficult to look up towards the stories of boxes where the higher paying spectator could avoid the masses in the stands just behind the ring, but from the noise, the rumble and ringing of a thousand voices crying for blood, Megatron could tell they were all full.

The VIP box, the largest, in the centre, lay to the left of him. Inside, he could see three winged shadows. He glared at them all, not knowing which would be _him_.

Distracted, it was only when the ground shook with a roar that he realised he had bigger problems than overfamiliar criminal oligarchs.

The doors of his opponent opened with a grind of gears and the clanking of metal. From within the darkness of the tunnel a large, metal plated head emerged, seven red glinting optics staring at him- one dead centre, three on either side. No blind spots, Megatron realised.

It crawled up it's ramp into the pit on six legs before rising onto the back four, the other two limbs transforming into long, jagged swords.

Techno-organic, Megatron's lip curled. Fantastic. He wondered how long it was going to take to kill this thing.

Spotlights dimmed then brightened suddenly with the sound of a horn that signalled the beginning of the match. His techno-organic opponent opened it's maw to screech, jaws dripping with thick black fluid- poison no doubt.

Stupid that he chose to show it off. Megatron flung the shock stick he'd found and hit it's long twisting glossa. It buzzed and blue sparks shot out. The creature howled in pain, sword arms transforming back out of instinct to defend itself from the pain.

All the built in weapons in the world wasn't enough to protect this creature from it's own stupidity. Megatron casually slipped between kicking legs and unsheathed his sword. He span, he ducked, skidding on his knees. He brought the sword up.

In one clear motion it was done. The techno-organic fell to the ground with a lifeless crunch and the crowd went wild.

Up in the VIP box, the centre silhouette had stood up.

Megatron felt a knot of anxiety grow in his chest.

He wondered what it was about that seeker that made him more nervous than the alien techno-organic that had wanted to kill him.

 

* * *

 

One of the arena hands chased after him as he left the pit, futilely waving a cloth and trying to slow him down long enough so they could at least wipe away the worst of the alien blood. There were frantic protests that he couldn't step into the VIP looking like 'that'. He could offend his spectators, or worse, stain the upholstery.

His long legs took the stairs three at a time and the panicked worker soon fell behind. He reached the box and yanked back the long velvet drapes. The click of weapons activating met his audials.

Two seekers, one black and one blue, both looking very alike, were stood with their blasters pointed. Megatron grit his denta, wondering if it would be worth it-

"It's fine," a raspy, flippant voice said, and from behind a high backed plush seat, a blue servo waved them down. "You two can go."

The two seekers looked resentful but shouldered past Megatron. The black one lingered just long enough to point to his optics and then back at Megatron with a glare. A threat. Megatron snorted.

"Are you going to sit down or just loiter behind me all evening?"

Megatron seized the back of a free chair and dragged it around to face Starscream. He sat in it heavily. Starscream tilted his helm towards him, lips curling. Something about his poise, his effortless grace, ignited a spike of irritability in Megatron.

"I have to say, that was one of the shorter fights of your career. And here I thought you were going to entertain me."

"Haven't you enough money to find entertainment elsewhere? Without mechs having to die for it?"

"You're the one doing the killing," Starscream murmured, pulling something out of his subspace. He held it out for Megatron. It was a credit chip. "For your cause."

Megatron took it. He looked at the value and almost dropped it.

"I'm assuming that's enough?" Starscream glanced at him when he fumbled

Megatron simply grunted, quickly slipping the credits away, not wanting to say either way. "Adequate."

Starscream made a considerate noise. "I added a little extra for your personal use." He reached between them and long warm digits brushed Megatron's arm. A buzz of sensation shot through the limb. Megatron shifted.

"Treat yourself." Starscream continued, "Maybe touch up that paint of yours."

Megatron gripped the armrests, feeling it was time to leave. "I'll put it to use."

"Don't rush off so quickly now," Starscream held out a servo. "I said I had something for you..."

Megatron had thought, perhaps naively, that the 'little something' Starscream had previously mentioned were the thousands of crystals dumped in his quarters. And if not that, the unnecessary excess of credits. He watched Starscream withdraw a package, a shiny silver case, accented with red claw like designs. It matched his armour.

He sat back down, taking it in hand. Starscream leant forward, watching as he flicked the lock and opened it. Sat in the silk lined box were a stack of datapads, the same opulent quality as the one he had discovered in his quarters. Beside them was a light-pen, studded in jewels.

Megatron pinched it between his thumb and fore finger, thinking it would break in his rough grip.

"It won't break." Starscream seemingly read his mind. "Tungsten, and reinforced gem settings. I had it designed specially for you."

Megatron placed it back in the box with care, unable to smooth away the frown from his expression.

"...This is a generous gift." He managed, knowing he should turn it down. Starscream clearly wanted something from him, and from what little Megatron knew of him, he was far from a trustworthy mech.

He went to hand it back, "I cannot-"

"Yes, you can." Starscream caught the box and pushed it back towards him. "It's a _gift_."

Megatron felt uneasy. His digits rubbed against the side of the box. He had grown accustomed to bribes and flattery in these recent months, but this was something else. Something he hadn't come across yet.

"What do you want?"

Starscream laughed, and he was beautiful in a terrifyingly wicked sort of way. "I don't want anything. Just to show my.... appreciation." The pause made Megatron's spark skip a beat. Starscream continued. "And a handsome young mech like you, you must get them all the time."

He leant forward and placed his servo on Megatron's knee. Megatron met his gaze and didn't react beyond his digits tightening on the box. Starscream's servo squeezed briefly then he rose, wings spreading wide.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon." He said, staring down at Megatron, and despite his smaller size, shorter stature, Megatron felt himself whither under some unseen power. He was clever. He was dangerous. He was experienced.

And for reasons Megatron couldn't decipher, Starscream wanted him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
Megatron couldn't recall a time in his life when he'd had credits to spare. He wasn't going to follow Starscream's suggestion of the touch up. His scrapes and scuffs were trophies, worn by all who ventured into the pits. They represented the struggles he had lived through.

So beyond buying himself an extra drink -something he considered fancy, high grade with a mercury swirl- there was nothing to do with the rest but hand it over to Soundwave.

He too looked at the amount, and then back at Megatron, questioningly.

"He was generous." Megatron explained. "As you predicted."

Soundwave continued to stare, and Megatron got the distinct impression he was being judged, so he walked away, resisting the urge to grumble under his breath.

Despite his orders to have his quarters cleared out, he was still finding crystals under pede. He tripped on them in the mornings, they fell out of storage spaces when he went to collect his weapons. Three days of this and he bored even of throwing them out in frustration. He spied the glint of one by the leg of his berth.

He picked it up, balanced it in his servos. It was ruby red. Megatron set it on the workstation and pulled out one of the other fancy gifts Starscream had given him. The datapad.

It had been preloaded with a comm frequency, and a simple message.

_If you feel the need to call me._

Megatron resentfully took note of the frequency number and discarded the swirling cursive, switching the datapad off. He dropped it to the workstation carelessly. He felt... unclean using it.

It'd probably feel even uncleaner when he finished his research on Starscream and got to the bottom of whatever that seeker was after.

It turned out the information wasn't hard to find, and the results were varied and plentiful.

There were warrants out for his arrest. In four different city states. Including Iacon. There were news reports; of deep space expeditions and scientific research awards. He had degrees, over a dozen of them. Doctorates too. There was a brief stint in the war academy, and mentions of record breaking flight-sim scores.

Putting aside the criminal record, they were all the hallmarks of a mech who had lived a long and varied and frankly astonishing life. Megatron found himself oddly lacking as a result. What had he achieved other than kill counts and riots?

And what did a criminal (though brilliant) mech like Starscream want with him and his fledgling cause?

He glanced at the crystal on the desk beside him.

Perhaps he should revel in the luxury of ignorance. It _was_ a blessing that such a her out patron would choose his cause.  

Or chose him. He still wasn't sure which yet.

 

* * *

 

   
As it turned out, he didn't need to worry about Starscream much at all in the next weeks. His previous offers -or as Megatron thought of them, threats- of visiting were often cancelled last minute. He was a busy mech it seemed, or had just so many warrants out for his arrest it was difficult for him to travel.

Often, he sent his trine in his place, one or both of them. Mechs stunning in their own right but despite looking so very alike their leader, they didn't seem to hold quite the same appeal. And though both brilliant fliers -ruling the skies as well as they did a rooms attention- they weren't as graceful on the ground, out of their comfort zone, as Starscream seemed. They didn't have his poise, his balance, those sharp but smooth movements.

Megatron didn't think anyone in the universe did...

Not that he thought of him often.

"Here," Thundercracker, the blue one (the miserable one of the pair) handed him a credit chip at the end of the night. "It's double. He won't be able to make the trip next week-"

"Neither will we." Skywarp, the other (the more bitter of the two) cut in.

"He hasn't made it any week." Megatron commented unthinkingly.

It earned identical brow arches from the seekers.

"We'll let him know you feel _neglected_." Skywarp said, a little nastily.

"And this-" Thundercracker stuck his servo out again before Megatron could snap back at the black seeker. He was holding another of the pretty, embellished silver boxes. Megatron took it warily.

"And this is?"

Thundercracker shrugged as Skywarp said, "How would we know?"

For the sake of his dignity, and distrusting of Starscream in so many ways, Megatron didn't open it in front of them. He tucked it under his arm, nodding to bid them farewell. Skywarp rolled his optics and tugged Thundercracker towards the exit.

"Don't worry!" He called back, "Screamer's not the sort to send bombs. He prefers killing bots personally."

It did little to reassure Megatron.

He took the box back to his room and stared at it for longer than was perhaps sane, debating whether or not Soundwave should be called to do a security check on it. But he reminded himself that there was no logical sense in Starscream sending him something nefarious when he had invested so much in him, in his cause.

He shoved Skywarp's teasing to the back of his processor and unclipped the lock.

It opened a crack and nothing exploded. Seeing as he had gotten this far without dying, Megatron opened it the rest of the way.

Energon goodies glowed up at him. Curious, he picked one up, squeezing it between his digits.

"Why?" He wondered aloud, giving it a sniff to check for poisons. He detected nothing. Somewhat cautiously, he slipped it into his mouth.

It lingered on his glossa for just a moment before melting, and it's rich spicy copper flavouring filled his mouth.

They were good, obviously expensive, but for what purpose? Money, weapons, mech-power, fuel - these were things he needed, things Starscream should have been sending. Not opulent sweets.

He stuck another into his mouth, resenting how good they tasted.

How could sending him treats like a suitor trying to woo their chosen possibly help with-

He paused mid chew.

 _Ah_.

 

* * *

 

Starscream answered on the second ring, the eagerness to his voice when he purred Megatron's designation meant he'd probably been hoping for this call.

" _You liked my gift, I take it?_ " He said warmly, sultry voice dropping through the comm speaker.

Megatron's digits felt numb and he almost forgot that he was calling to be angry. "I'm not interested in your gifts. Or you."

He expected a shocked pause, maybe a response of anger. A wealthy mech like Starscream wouldn't be used to being told 'no', to not having want he wanted, when he wanted. But there was a laugh, somehow both carefree _and_ dark.

Megatron felt on edge.

" _Well if it's too much for you, I'll reign myself in._ " Starscream began easily. " _I_ -

"No." Megatron said loudly, interrupting. "Keep your filthy credits."

He hung up before Starscream could respond, nerves frayed enough from just the brief exchange. He gripped his workstation, wondering if he'd just made a huge mistake or if his demands that Starscream back off would even be obeyed. They needed the financial support, but his dignity was worth more than mere credits.

Everything he had ever worked towards would mean little if he simply shifted from one master to the next.

He had been owned once before; never again.

 

* * *

 

Megatron prided himself on his strong sense of conviction. What others called stubbornness, he called determination. But that conviction was being tested now, as he stood by Soundwave and stared out across the hollow remains of their base- their home. Everything they'd had.

"Is there anything left?" He asked.

Soundwave shook his helm, no.

An underhanded, cowardly move on the Autobot security force's part. Why bother engaging dissidents when you could bomb them from the sky in the middle of the night, when the enemy were too busy recharging to defend themselves.

It was the East Wing of the base that had taken the worst of it, and Megatron, residing in the West, had only felt the tremors, waking to the sounds of explosions and shouts, dust falling from the ceiling. He was unscathed, but their fuel storage, a lot of weapons, living breathing _mechs_ , had been destroyed.

Soundwave, at least, though covered in dust and soot, appeared unharmed, but the few medics Megatron could afford to keep interested were inundated with the fallout of repairing those who'd survived.   
  
They needed to leave, vacate the area before the dust settled and the Autobots came in to arrest or kill the survivors. They needed the anonymity of a new base, they needed to restock, to recruit, to repair.

Megatron walked away from Soundwave, stepping down into the rubble of what had once been the weapons vault. He entered a frequency into his comm that he had never quite been brave enough to delete, already cringing at how pathetic he was going to look.

It was the middle of the night, but Starscream still answered on the second ring.

" _Don't you worry your pretty little head,"_ Starscream said gently. " _I'll take care of everything."_

A welcome reassurance for a group as low on their luck as the Decepticons; so Megatron wasn't sure what is was about it that made his very spark shift in it's chamber.

 

* * *

 

"Don't panic everyone! Your saviours are here!"

Megatron heard Skywarp's voice yelling across the lobby of the apartment building he and his followers had fled to and wanted to sink through the floor and become one with the foundations.

The building was -allegedly- owned by Starscream. It was unlocked, furnished, and completely empty of tenants. Starscream had insisted that it was safe, and being off the radar, in a residential area, no Autobot would think to look. As much as Megatron had wanted to disagree (and had been unnerved by the existence of luxury _empty_ apartments) he'd known Starscream was right, and he hardly had a choice of alternatives.

He had improved his mood somewhat by allowing the greasy, bloodied survivors of the bombing drape themselves all over the expensive looking upholstery, effectively ruining it. The high polished white floor was also in a state; treads scuffing the surface and dirt smeared into the tiled corners.

Now it appeared that Starsceram had sent his lackeys over to make sure they were all behaving themselves. Megatron glared across the room at the pair of them, Skywarp looking far too amused at the damage they'd all taken.

But no, it was far worse than that.

Megatron spied the graceful sway of white and red accented wings coming up behind the darker seekers. Starscream.

Megatron wanted to cover his face, dread washing over him when bright red optics lifted and caught his gaze. A smile, bright and sharp, pulled at Starscream's mouth. Megatron scowled back, thinking it would be so much easier to hate him if wasn't damn handsome.

He crossed the room in several easy strides, stepping over a dismembered limb and a red silk cushion someone had thrown to the ground.

"How did you get here so quickly?" Megatron demanded, pushing aside shame and embarrassment, and even gratitude, because Soundwave had yet to locate the source of the security breach that had given away their position in the first place.

Everyone was a suspect.

Particularly Starscream; a mech far cleverer and devious than any of his own.

Starscream didn't look thrown by his accusatory tone, though his smile shifted with disapproval.

"We have our means." He said, making some vague gesture towards Skywarp, who looked busy tormenting already shellshocked, battered Decepticons. "And I considered this somewhat of an urgent situation."

"You're done enough," Megatron began, not grateful but dismissive. He had enough to worry about after having dragged his mechs half way across the province. They were bleeding out faster than the few medics he had could repair them, and Starscream was an unwelcome distraction. "I don't need you-"

He was cut off by a servo rising, Starscream silencing him firmly.

"You were rather _vague_ on the comm," he said reproachfully, "So I thought I'd see the damages for myself. Where are the rest of your medics?"

Megatron didn't say anything, not wanting to admit this was everyone he had.

Starscream seemed to get the hint anyway. He reached out and touched Megatron's forearm patronisingly. Megatron repressed a flinch.

"I'll handle it."

Megatron snarled, "I don't need-"

" _Ugh_." Starscream made a noise of disgust when he drew his servo away from Megatron's arm, finding the palm covered in dust. "What is this?"

"The remains of my home." Megatron reminded him darkly, losing the last of his patience. "So you can-"

"Thundercracker!" Starscream twisted and shouted for his trine mate, who was stood by the door and eyeing the carnage of dying mechs distastefully. "Fix _this_ , would you?" He gestured to some hapless, armless mech when he spoke, but was clearly referring to _all_ of them. "Call in a few favours with our friends at the medical institute. Remind them to keep their mouths shut."

Thundercracker nodded, and Starscream turned back to Megatron with a disapproving tut. "Come with me..."

He took Megatron's wrist, touch too familiar, and Megatron dug his heels in, unnerved. "I'm not leaving my-"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." Starscream pulled on him again, surprisingly strong for a mech so short and slim. Megatron ended up stumbling after him. "It's only the next room. You need cleaning up."

Megatron tried to fight his grip without actually having to break his wrist, "I-"

"Come _on_."

He was dragged towards a door that lead away from the main lobby space and into private rooms. Megatron looked for Soundwave behind him, but his lieutenant was too overrun with the stress of trying to reorganise and head count the casualties, and so there was no one to save Megatron when the door snapped shut behind them, and he found himself alone in a modest, but comfortable looking living space with Starscream.

And whatever the Pit he wanted to do with him.

His optics locked on the berth, large, fourposter, made up with pillows, and his armour locked together a little tighter.

"-for your use," Starscream was saying. "I'm afraid it's not much. But most of the rooms are fake-"

Megatron blinked himself out of his stupor, pulling his wrist free. "What?!"

"The rooms." Starscream rolled his optics, leaving him to open another door inside the room. Megatron could see pipes and nozzles inside. A wash rack. "Most are just for show. The heating in here works at least."

"Why would you own a building full fake apartments?" Megatron asked, wondering if Starscream was insane. Or simply if his logic chip had burned itself out with age.

"It's better that you don't ask questions like that." Starscream said simply, coming to stand before him and folding his arms. "I wouldn't want you getting into trouble now..."

Megatron hated that patronising tone he used. He was bigger, _stronger_ than Starscream, and could probably knock him through the wall with the flick of a hand.

"I don't think I need advice about staying out of trouble from _you_." He said, stepping forward to loom over Starscream. If nothing else, it would remind him who was the true menace of the two of them. Starscream was just some old crook. He was a gladiator, the champion on the pits-

Starscream hummed fondly and reached up to pat his cheek. Megatron was so stunned he didn't even flinch back.

"You're trying to intimidate me." He smirked, "How endearing."

Megatron's jaw set, but Starscream was already swanning past him, brushing a bit of dust from one of the surfaces as he moved towards the door. "Clean yourself up. You're not raising anyones morale walking around looking like _that_."

Megatron refused to look down at himself. "And where are you going?"

"Oh don't worry," Starscream cooed in a tone that _made_ Megatron want to worry a lot. "I'll be back."

He swept through the door, leaving Megatron alone in the bizarrely homely room.

He moved towards the door, and was dismayed to find it didn't have a locking mechanism, nor did the wash racks.

He couldn't help but feel like Starscream's promise of coming back had been more of a threat.

He hoped Soundwave would be willing to guard the door.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Soundwave stayed in the room with him that night, after instructing Rumble and Frenzy to watch the door for him while he cleared away the night's filth in the wash rack. The berth was more than big enough for the four of them, even more so when Rumble and Frenzy took up so little room- and insisted on recharging on their chests because 'they liked the vibrations of their engines'.

Megatron was more than used to their peculiarities by now.

What he couldn't handle so well was how often they kicked in their recharge. Since Soundwave seemed so much more patient with it than he was, Megatron soon turfed Rumble over to him too.

He found it difficult to recharge even without the physical abuse, given what had happened over the last cycle. His spark pulse still hadn't returned to normal.

Not to mention the muddle of thoughts running through his processor. So many things that just weren't adding up...

Half a dozen student's from Iacon had poled up not long after Starscream had given Thundercracker the order to call back up in. Looking at them, Megatron had no idea how they could have come to know Starscream. They bore the appearance of higher-caste mechs; spoilt, in Megatron's opinion. They looked at the Decepticons they were working on distastefully, down their noses. But there was a bright edge of fear in their optics too.

Fear of them? Of him?

No, he realised, later, when he went wandering about the building and was just in time to see Thundercracker and Skywarp emerge from the elevator connected to the upper floors. As they passed through the middle of the lobby to get to the entrance, the student doctors ducked their helms and made themselves look as busy as possible.

It was fear of _Starscream_ , and whatever favours they must have owed.

Thundercracker and Skywarp disappeared onto the street outside. He heard their thrusters ignite a few moments later, and waited until the dull throom of them taking off had passed.

Starscream would be alone.

He strode through the lobby, pausing briefly to pass on well wishes to some of the injured still draped over the sofas, waiting for attention. He stepped into the elevator, wondering which floor to press.

Then realised he didn't have to wonder. The numbered buttons were fake too! Only one  was real; the 'Up' arrow. Megatron shook his helm, pressing it. The elevator began to rise, taking it's time, which meant the tall building he'd seen outside wasn't just some bizarre hologram at least. Finally it reached the top with a ding.

And he stepped out.

Or fell out.

"What the devil-"

He was staring at what could very well be more credits than there was in all of Iacon. They filled crates on the floor. They were staked and lined up on the workstations. They were being run through counting machines. Millions, billions, of credit chips.

A dark helm poked out from behind a stack of crates after the elevator ding. Starscream blinked at him in surprise.

"Oh," he smiled anyway, not at all acting like someone whose obviously illegal stash had just been discovered. "I knew I should have installed security for that elevator."

Megatron was fairly speechless. He walked in, staring at it all, wondering if it was real, if he was hallucinating. He touched a nearby workstation, digits brushing a chip.

"No."

His wrist was seized in a firm grip. Megatron yanked himself away with a snarl, but Starscream was less concerned with him than he was the workstation he'd touched. He drew a silky, monogrammed cloth out of his subspace and quickly scrubbed at what he'd touched.

"The sensor pad prints on your digits are unique, you know." He said, squinting at the workstation, then the credit chip, before straightening again. "They've started recording them as a form of secondhand identification. And we can't have you getting in trouble now, can we?"

Megatron was too shocked to question that. "Where did this come from?" He felt overwhelmed by it. The sheer magnitude of wealth. All these credits, billions of credits, could do _so much_ good, feed so many of the starving- yet it was sat here, hoarded away-

"I made it." Starscream took his arm and began to turn him towards the elevator. "I'll explain everything down -"

"Made it?!" Megatron went into the elevator just to pull away from his touch, "You can't just make credits."

"Yes I can." Starscream got in the elevator with him, pressing the down button. In the confined space Megatron could smell the polish on his armour. It was Musky. Dated. Old fashioned. Nice.

"It's called counterfeiting." Starscream continued, like he was an idiot. "It's not real."

Megatron felt annoyance rise in him again. He glared down at Starscream. "I should have known. So the credits you sent us-"

"Sent _you_." Starscream corrected for some reason. "And don't be ridiculous, those were real. Like I said, I can't have you getting into trouble."

The elevator dinged and opened back into the lobby. Megatron went to step out, but Starscream stepped around him, blocking the doors with his broad wing span.

"You're looking frayed," he commented, a delicate servo lifting to touch his face. Megatron flinched, but his digits were warmth and soft. "Come back to my room. We'll have a drink."

Megatron thought that was a supremely bad idea, being alone with him. But Starscream took his servo and led him out of the elevator, through the lobby, down the hall, _past_ the room he'd left Soundwave in, to another large, opulent looking door.

All he had to do was slip his servo from Starsceram's grip and say 'no'. Or even just walk away, head back to his room, crawl back into the warm berth with Soundwave and the cassettes.

They stopped in front of the door and Starscream winked at him. The door read his identification and slipped open to immit them.

Starscream's grip on his servo went slack.

Megatron walked in entirely willingly.

 

* * *

 

"I'm going to Praxus tomorrow," Starscream explained, having sat Megatron down on a plush, velvet chaise lounge and crossed the room to fetch expensive looking drinks from an expensive looking cabinet. "I'd like you to come."

The words didn't register until Starscream was back in front of him, a drink hanging from clawed digits. Megatron took it, but didn't drink.

"Well?" Starscream arched a brow, slipping onto the chaise lounge next to him, crossing one long leg over the other. His thruster was a hairsbreadth from brushing Megatron's shin.

Megatron dragged his gaze away from stunning legs to look Starscream in the face, but didn't fair much better there either.

"I- I am not-" He struggled to sound decently furious at the suggestion that he could be dragged along on vacation like some _plaything_. "I have better things to do than-"

"Oh, what better things?" Starscream interrupted easily, taking a tiny sip. "Fights? In your nonexistent arena? Going to hold a protest atop the rubble, are you?"

Megatron's temper cooled with his a sudden sinking mood. He took a drink. A long one. It flooded his sensors. He peered at it curiously, glossa tingling with the charge.

A servo found his knee as Starscream leaned in, clever optics sharp and focused. "There are things I can show you, _teach_ you, in Praxus." He promised, servo squeezing. "Both I and the city have a lot to offer. Here? You'll only be waiting for the dust to clear. It'll be weeks before I find you something suitable."

"Find me...?" Megatron struggled to keep up. He wondered how the drink had rushed so suddenly to his processor, muddling his mind, warming his chest. "Another base?"

Starscream smiled patronisingly, and Megatron's wouldn't at all have been surprised if he'd pinched his cheek and started cooing at him like some simpering old grand-creator. "Yes. If you come to Praxus..."

Megstron felt unnervingly like a cyber-hare with it's back against the wall. "...And what will I be _doing_ in Praxus?"

He took another long swig, bracing himself.

"Keeping me company, of course," Starscream seemed to scoot a little closer to him, his frame warm where it brushed Megatron's own. His servo inched further up Megatron's leg, no longer on his knee but mid thigh now, and getting higher.

Megatron shifted, instinctively parting his thighs. "Fliers." He said.

Starscream's digits stopped an bare inch from his codpiece, his optics brightening with suprise. "Fliers?"

Megatron nodded, mouth so dry he had to take another drink. The liquid warmth dripped through his frame and soothed his turmoiling emotions -shame battling with determination, lust with self-preservation. "I want fliers. _Good_ ones. A new base. An airforce. Weapons, and fuel."

He finished his list with a firm glare, daring Starscream to barter. He'd tolerate nothing less than everything he could get to strengthen his cause.

Starscream didn't barter. He began to smirk.

"Anything else?" His digits drew circles on Megatron's inner thigh, leaving tingles in their wake.

"Respect." Megatron found himself snarling.

"Perfect." Starscream plucked the half finished drink out of his servo and set it aside, pushing on Megatron's thigh to angle it upwards and tilt him back against the chaise lounge's armrest.

"Respecting the mechs who submit to my will happens to be surprisingly high on my priorities."

Megatron swallowed thickly at the word 'submit'. And from the look on Starscream's face, he didn't have to guess that he had used it for the exact purpose of unnerving him.

He needn't have bothered. Megatron was unnerved plenty enough already.

 

* * *

 

Megatron was far from inexperienced in matters of intimacy. He'd been with plenty of mechs and femmes, some of whom he'd liked and some he hadn't. So much of his early life had been suffering, the physical pleasure of 'facing was a welcome distraction from the hardships. It was just a matter of popping panels, bending them over, and (for him at least) having the polite decency to make sure they overloaded too.

He'd never been the recipient of a spiking- he almost had, once, but it wasn't the sort of thing he recalled with any fondness.

He wondered if that was about to change.

Starscream was surprisingly heavy, lying on top of him like he was. The weight of his wings must have had something to do with it. He had his servo between Megatron's thighs, the heel of it pressing and rubbing against his panel. His mouth was on Megatron's neck, glossa dragging slowly up the cables, enticing shiver after shiver out of Megatron's overstimulated, stiff frame.

He gripped the wings on Starscream's back, they were warm and smooth and he didn't know where else to touch when he was the (apparently) submissive party in his. His unsureness was answered for him when Starscream reached back, caught his wrist, and brought his clumsily big servo between their frames. He soon felt the warmth of Starscream's codpiece against his sensors.

The armour folded away within a moment of his touch, the array beneath eager for stimuli. Megatron's servo felt clammy when hot stiff metal pressed to his palm. He took hold of it instinctively, griping it's girth. Surprised by it's size, he remembered distantly that older models were built with bigger equipment. He squeezed it, and Starscream hummed approvingly in his audial.

"Open up," he purred, digits ticking at the seam to his valve panel.

Megatron's array pulsed with want, but he was so unused to valve stimulation that his spike housing popped instead. He stiffened, an apology on his glossa, but Starscream took hold of it in a careful grip away, easily shifting his attention away from his original target.

Megatron felt himself sink into the upholstery both with relief and the new, skilled, _perfect_ pleasure.

Starscream dragged his digits over him like he knew every set of sensors littering his spike by spark. He gripped and changed pace at just the right moments, claws dragging along protometal with just the right amount of pressure not to hurt.

Megatron's own servo went slack on Starscream's spike as his optics began to dim, mouth falling open to groan. He might have even been drooling.

Starscream muttered something that sounded like a Vosian endearment. He muttered it again when he dipped down to kiss Megatron's jaw. His own hips began to roll forwards in want of friction. Megatron suddenly remembered to reciprocate, working Starscream's spike with fast strokes to make up for his lapse in concentration.

"Let me," Starscream shifted onto his knees and brushed Megatron's servo away.

Now with nothing to do he laid back and watched as Starscream straightened over him, imposing with his winged silhouette, blocking the overhead lights and casting his face in shadow. He looked dark and beautiful, captivating in a whole new way.

Megatron ached for him.

But he kept to his station, reclined and passive, watching as Starscream took hold of his own thick length.

Starscream stroked both their spikes, one in each hand, so Megatron could watch his perfectly manicured claws dragging down over the ridges then rising up again. The tip of Starscream's spike began to bead with transfluid. Megatron's was already dripping down the length of his shaft, slicking the slide of Starscream's palm against his spike, loud enough to hear in the quiet intimacy of the room.

Starscream worked at the tip, showing off with a clever little trick he did using thumb. Megatron was fixated on him, on the pulse of the biolights embellishing his spike. Part of him wanted to put his mouth on it, to let Starscream feed it to him, to choke on it. His entire frame surged with a wave of heat.

Finally, Starscream shuffled back and bent at the waist, angling Megatron's spike towards himself. A dark glossa slipped out between pretty lips and flicked over the slit, swiping away the beading fluid.

Megatron overloaded with a load, low moan, back arching against the chaise lounge. Starscream was quick and drew back, licking the corner of his mouth when a spot of fluid hit him there and watching as the rest came down in thick glistening ropes all over Megatron's own chest and stomach. 

He groaned with a twitch when his spike gave one last weak spurt against his hip, helm fuzzy with post climatic bliss.

Warmth hit him a second time when Starscream hissed through his denta above him and began emptying his own spike, shooting fluid across Megatron's abdomen. Megatron watched lazily, Starscream's hips tilting forward with his deliberate intention to mark him. Their accumulated fluids merged together into a little puddle in the middle of Megatron's abdomen, undoubtably already seeping into the seams of his armour.

Starscream sat back on his heels, vents coming down to normal, and surveyed his good work.

Megatron dipped a digit in the transfluid apprehensively. Starscream smirked.

"So," Starscream spoke first, taking his monogrammed cloth out of his subspace and cleaning himself up. "Praxus tomorrow?"

Megatron nodded dazedly, taking the cloth when it was extended gratefully. "Yes," he rumbled, climatic glow dwindling with apprehension of what was to cone. "For how long?"

Starscream shrugged, stepping off the chaise lounge with nary a mark nor smear on his perfect glossy frame. "As long as it takes."

"What takes?" Megatron felt his suspicions grow.

Starscream just winked at him, reaching to retrieve his drink and handing it back to him. "You'll see."

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Control](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064131) by [Rooscha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rooscha/pseuds/Rooscha)




End file.
